Seven Minute Frosting
by 4. Black Queen
Summary: A Jean Grey/Emma Frost femslash. Jean really, really doesn't want Emma's help making cupcakes. Apparently she's getting it anyway.


**This story is not mine, it was written by my friend Sionnain, all credits go to her, my only intention is to share it.**

Emma strolled into the kitchen, intending to get a glass of water to take up to her bedroom. It was nearly eleven-thirty at night, and she was surprised to find Jean in the kitchen. Mixing some concoction in a glass bowl with a vengeance. "This seems awfully complicated for a late-night snack, Jean," Emma drawled, opening the cabinet and looking for a glass.

"Shut up, Emma," Jean responded immediately.

"Sometimes I get the feeling you think _shut up, Emma_ is my given name, darling."

Jean didn't look up, continuing to mix the contents of the bowl with inhuman vigor. "Sometimes I think it should be. What are you doing in here?"

Emma stared at her. "Getting a glass of water. Which is, might I add, a lot more reasonable than whatever it is _you're_ doing, at this hour. It's a school night, Jean," Emma clucked her tongue.

"Tomorrow is Beak's birthday. I totally forgot. I have to make him something and I don't have time to do it tomorrow morning. Besides, I told Scott I'd take care of it since he went to see that family in Bangor about their daughter." Jean looked up, a few strands of red hair in her face. "So, cupcakes it is."

"Wouldn't a cake be easier?" Emma filled up her glass of water and leaned back against the counter, sipping it. "It would have to be."

"I don't really care about your opinion of the ease of homemade baked goods," Jean snapped, blowing her hair out of her eyes with a quick, frustrated breath. "I'd have needed more than one cake anyway, and we have more muffin pans than cake pans. So I'm using two boxes of mix and telling Logan he only gets one cupcake, and we should have enough for everyone."

There were about six things wrong with that logic-_couldn't you have used the same pan twice?_, but Emma wisely did not point them out. Mostly because she wasn't entirely sure she was right, since she didn't cook, and she didn't want Jean pointing out the flaws in her argument. "How many have you made?"

Jean was quite obviously gritting her teeth. "This is the first bowl of batter. I told you I'd forgotten, remember?" Her voice sounded huffy. "It's not like I don't have a lot to think about-"

"You could have sent someone to the store tomorrow to buy some," Emma interrupted, shrugging. She wasn't in the mood for the Litany of Things that Bothered Jean Grey. She grabbed one of the boxes of unopened mix on the counter and began searching for a bowl. She could feel Jean's stare against her back, boring holes through her shirt. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm helping you, silly," Emma said brightly, upending the box into the bowl. She peered at the directions curiously. Emma Frost had never made a baked good in her entire life. Still. Jean was doing it-how hard could it be?

"I don't want you to help me," Jean said tightly, and she was beginning to loosen her shields, now; tight-edged energy, snaking out and brushing gently against Emma's awareness.

Emma hid her smug smile beneath the fall of her hair. "I know, darling. That's the only reason why I'm doing it. Now, think about this like a logical person instead of someone obviously overly-emotionally invested in a birthday treat. How much time will I save you if I help you? Be a bit Machiavellian about this, Jean. I know you have it in you." Emma turned her head, just a little, and let Jean see the soft edge of her smile. "No one else might believe it, but _I_ do."

Jean's eyes narrowed. "Frost, I swear to God, no one has ever made me want to put them through a plate glass window just for _fun_ as much as you do."

"I'm touched, darling. Hand me the eggs." Emma held her hand out. Jean made a sound that might have been a snarl and slapped the package of eggs into Emma's hand. When Emma opened them, several of them had cracked. She opened her mouth to gleefully point that out-_now, look, your temper has gotten the best of you, and where do we go get eggs at this hour?_-when the eggs righted themselves and knitted back together into smooth, oval perfection.

_Show off._

"Why don't you use your telekinesis to do this?" Emma queried, cracking the eggs over the bowl.

"Hey, that's a good idea!" Jean looked over at her, smiling a wide, falsely bright smile. "Night! I got it from here." She made the wooden spoon lift and hover right over Emma's head. Emma could tell Jean wanted to hit her with it. That was because Jean was sending a very vivid image of whacking Emma's mouth with the spoon. Emma plucked it out of the air and began mixing her batter without a word.

It was silent in the kitchen as they worked. Not necessarily _companionable_ silence, no, it was definitely more of the resentful kind. The kitchen was large but the two of them kept getting into each other's way; Jean would go for the muffin cups (Emma was glad Jean had done that; she had no idea one needed to put those in _first_, and would have poured the batter directly into the pan, which would have resulted in Jean's immediately pointing out Emma's mistake) and Emma would reach for the towel to wipe up a bit of batter, and they would find themselves awkwardly reaching around the other and standing far too close together.

Jean's hand brushed Emma's arm, once, and Jean curved her fingers and drew her nails up Emma's skin, too hard to have been an accident. The sensation was accompanied by a low-level flare of something dark and smooth, directed at Emma, and the contact made Emma shiver. She raised a brow at Jean. "I thought you had to get the cupcakes finished?" she asked huskily.

Jean glared and snatched her hand away. "Don't flatter yourself, Frost. I just can't seem to resist wanting to claw you when you're around. I was pretending that was your eyes."

Emma picked up the spoon and licked at the slowly dripping batter. "How flattering."

Jean rolled her eyes, but there was something, there. A brief smile, maybe, one that wasn't edged with tension. It was gone very fast. "Don't eat that, Emma, we have to have some for the kids, you know."

"Yes, ma'am," Emma intoned, very serious. She began adding muffin cups to the pans Jean had put in front of her. The kitchen smelled good, like warm baking things.

"Emma."

"What?" Emma asked innocently, eyes wide. "You are being awfully inconsiderate to me, Jean, when I'm only trying to help."

"Uh huh." Jean snorted. "You're only helping to make this even more unpleasant and stressful. Don't think I don't get that."

"Of course you do. You're a telepath, after all. It would be _silly_ to hide things around you, darling, just _silly_." Emma was very carefully spooning the mixture into the cups. This was very boring. Jean should be glad Emma was here, to at least liven things up a little.

"Oh, yeah, that's definitely what I'm thinking right now," Jean said, going over to the pantry. She cursed under her breath, quick and tight. "We don't have any frosting. Of course we don't. God. This was going to be much easier with pre-packaged frosting, and now I'm going to have to make some." She began pulling a dizzying array of things from the pantry; sugar, something in a bottle that Emma couldn't identify but looked like clear syrup, and a few other items. "I'll just have to make some."

Emma, finished with pouring the batter into the muffin pans, hopped up on the counter and kicked the heels of her bare feet against the cabinet beneath her. "I'm...impressed...Jean, that you have the knowledge of how to make frosting stored in your brain. I'm sure that comes in very helpful, for emergencies such as this."

"Hand me the vanilla extract. It's in the cabinet above your head. Oh, and if you can find the cream of tartar without asking where we keep it, what it looks like, and what it does? I'll give you a cookie!" Jean found another bowl and began measuring out things, her movements quick and short. Some of the sugar spilled on the counter.

"A cookie? You'd have to make them, you know, and I don't think we have enough ingredients left for that." Emma opened the cabinet and rooted around until she found the vanilla extract. She had no idea where to find this so-called _cream of tartar_. She peeked in Jean's head to find out.

"Uh-uh. That's cheating." Jean looked up and smiled sharply, shaking her finger. "I could tell you to set up a double-broiler, and watch your brain melt." She chuckled. "It's in the back, next to the baking soda." She sounded smug.

Emma rolled her eyes and handed down the items, making sure to exaggerate the stretch of her body as she did so. Jean's eyes flickered down, for just a second, and Emma winked at her. The tension shifted between them. Like it usually did. Out of nowhere, sudden and hot and fierce. Jean waved the small container down to the counter and took a step forward, threateningly. Emma felt her breath catch in her throat.

"This? Is public. This place. We have a rule. Stop trying to get under my skin so I'll break it." Jean was standing very close to her, now, and she smelled a bit like sugar and chocolate.

Emma leaned forward. Jean was taller than her, but with Emma on the counter, it gave her the height advantage. She reached out and wrapped her legs around Jean's waist, then licked Jean's neck. "But it's so easy to do."

"Emma, the plate-glass window threat? Still stands. _Get off of me._." Jean put her hands on Emma's shoulders and pushed. But not very hard.

"I find it terribly funny you like to pretend we hate each other."

"We _do_ hate each other," Jean said, obviously vexed, but her fingers were idly playing with Emma's hair. "God. We really do."

"Yes, but that's not all. Is it?" Emma moved her leg, caressing Jean's back with her bare foot. She was gratified to hear Jean suck in a breath, to feel a shift in Jean's energy from annoyance to interest.

"Anyone could walk in here, right now," Jean breathed, leaning down. "This is a rule. We don't do this in public. Ever." She pressed her mouth, just slightly, to Emma's.

Emma opened hers, making a small, involuntary sound. *I know. Then why are we doing it?* She nipped at Jean's lower lip.

Jean pulled away, disentangling herself, but her tongue licked out at her bottom lip and her pupils were dilated, her breathing just a little bit accelerated. "You taste like chocolate," she said huskily.

"Mmm," Emma said, leaning back, displaying herself in as wantonly a fashion as she could while sitting on a counter. "Are you going to start calling me cupcake?"

"Only in your dreams, you delusional hussy. Now, be quiet while I make this frosting."

Emma hopped off the counter when the timer on the oven went off, and while Jean made the frosting, Emma attended to the pans of cupcakes. When the frosting was ready, they had to wait for the rest of the cupcakes to finish baking. They were still going to have to cool. Jean yawned. "Maybe I could frost these in the morning." She swirled two fingers in the bowl of frosting, raising it to her lips. She eyed Emma consideringly. "Then I wouldn't have to put up with you helping me anymore."

"That's fine with me. My amusement in this little endeavor is wearing thin, anyway, as now you're tired and really too easy to irritate. There's no challenge left."

Jean crossed the kitchen, pinning Emma against the counter. "You don't think I'm a challenge? You want to know something, Frost?" She pushed her icing-covered fingers into Emma's mouth. Emma swirled her tongue around them, licking at the sugary icing. "I don't even think I'd need seven minutes. With you."

*Maybe you should try it, and see.* The icing was completely gone, now. Emma didn't stop licking Jean's fingers, her tongue pressing teasingly at the skin between them.

Jean leaned forward threateningly, trapping Emma against the counter. Her fingers pressed further down Emma's throat, the gesture all calculated dominance and intentional discomfort. "I think it's very funny, Emma," she said in a low, angry voice, "How you pretend to lust after my husband so no one knows who it is that really makes you wet."

Emma was having trouble breathing. She could have bitten down, on Jean's fingers. They both knew she wouldn't. *Who says I'm pretending?*

Jean growled, shoving her fingers in harder. *I hate you.* She pulled her fingers out of Emma's mouth, and wiped them on Emma's neck. It was supposed to be demeaning. It made Emma choke back a gasp. They were staring at each other, each breathing hard, surrounded by cupcakes in the low, quiet light of the kitchen. The mansion was silent as a grave. Jean wrapped her fingers in Emma's winter-wheat hair, pulled her head back.

Emma moaned, her throat submissively bared. *I hate you, too.*

Jean kissed her. Her mouth tasted sticky-sweet, like sugar. *My room. Ten minutes.* She pulled away, releasing Emma's hair. "Put the frosting away," she said, out loud. "There's a lid for that bowl, in the third drawer down, next to the fridge." Jean left the room, leaving Emma alone, still leaning back against the counter and trembling just slightly. Jean looked completely together, unaffected. _Damn her._

Emma's hands were shaking. Her body was warm, liquid. Wanting. She found the lid, but before she put the frosting away, she covered one of the half-cooled cupcakes in the frosting and set it aside. It was a warm, gooey mess, by the time she was finished. _Sounds familiar,_ Emma thought, annoyed. She looked at the cupcake for a long time, and she left it on the counter. She'd go see Jean. Of course she would. But in twenty minutes, not ten. No sense making things easy.

That wasn't what either of them liked, anyway.


End file.
